


perchance to dream

by she_who_the_river_could_not_hold



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-level depictions of death, Character Death, Dark Academia inspired, F/M, Gen, Hamlet!Clarke, Horatio!Bellamy, Thriller, as a treat, shakespeare au, you can avenge your father’s death and fall in love along the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28987278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/she_who_the_river_could_not_hold/pseuds/she_who_the_river_could_not_hold
Summary: Something is rotten in the state of Arkadia.The death of Clarke Griffin’s father was a horrible tragedy. But things take a turn for the worse when she receives a letter from her childhood best friend, Bellamy, who urges her to return home. She arrives back to a mother who’s already remarried––to her father’s old business partner. But that’s not all and she’s greeted by an apparition of her father himself. When he announces that there’s more to his death than what meets the eye, Clarke has to work quickly to reveal the truth.But the path of vengeance can be a slippery slope and Bellamy will have to do everything he can to keep Clarke afloat, all while they realize their true feelings for each other.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 13
Kudos: 27





	perchance to dream

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Bellarke January Joy! Because I can never do anything simply, I present to you my modern, dark academia inspired Hamlet AU. I was inspired by late 90s thriller movies as well for the vibes ( _Along Came a Spider_ especially) and my belief that Shakespeare stories are underutilized in both fandom and non-fandom storylines. 
> 
> For the alternating POVs in this fic, “+++” indicates a jump in time within the same POV and “------” is a jump in perspective between Bellamy and Clarke. I also got inspiration from the Troped randomizer (the fic challenge previously known as Chopped), which helped me zero in on some tropes for it. I highly recommend you [check it out](https://perchance.org/troped) regardless of the project you’re working on!
> 
> The title is a line from _Hamlet_ because I couldn’t help myself and you can find the moodboard for this [here on my Tumblr](https://she-who-the-river-could-not-hold.tumblr.com/post/641319597097762816/perchance-to-dream-day-25-of)!

_ “Something’s rotten in the state of Arkadia.” _

November came to the countryside of Arkadia with a bitter cold front. A heavy cloud cover stayed in the sky for days at a time, somehow making the earlier nights even darker. It was a dreary time of year, but Bellamy Blake still found solace in it. There was a hint of frost to the gravel, giving it an extra crunch underfoot as he walked.

The grounds of the Griffin Estates were muted, despite the various lights that decorated it, obscured by the late night hour’s fog. 

He’d come out for a walk. It was chilly and a part of him would rather be inside, preferably reading by the fireplace in the library, but old habits die hard. He hadn’t smoked anything in years but his body still told him to get up and pace the grounds as if he still needed a smoke break. So sans cigarette, he strolled outside. 

His usual patterns remained: exit the side door, check on the outdoor gardens (dead this time of year), and then meander his way towards the front of the lot. He was friends with the night shift security guards at the front, so he usually always found his way back there. Miller still occasionally smoked, though he kindly stopped doing it around Bellamy once he’d quit, and Murphy didn’t give a rats ass. They were great for a good laugh, when the house felt too quiet.

As he neared the guard’s station near the second gate to the property, he frowned as he noticed the flickering lights coming from it. Something about the situation felt off.

He didn’t get much more of an answer when he knocked on the partially open door and stepped inside.

Around the room, multiple TV screens were set up to show all of the different angles from the cameras set up around the property. They were all filled with static right now though, jumping in and out of focus with the grain making the images flicker brightly. The overhead light that was usually on was also out.

“Wha––”

“Do you see him too?” Suddenly hissed Miller from his right.

Bellamy quickly looked side to side.

In each of their chairs, Miller and Murphy were pressed back up against the wall. Fear was etched onto their faces, Murphy’s even paler than normal. He slowly raised his hand up, pointing to the back corner near where the back wall was with the Griffins’ schedule of events on it. But in the dark, the calendar was impossible to see.

But Bellamy’s eyes remained glued to the spot as it slowly became clear as to what Murphy was pointing to.

Hazy at first, a milky white, there was something beginning to take shape in that corner. Flickering at the same pace as the screens, growing brighter and the longer that Bellamy focused on it. Or rather, focused on him.

The light in front of him was beginning to not just take form, but the shape of a man that he’d known very well at one point in his life. Up until recently actually. A hint of stubborn five o’clock shadow, a large frame that was more like a gentle bear than an imposing figure.

But while Bellamy could instantly recognize him, what he couldn’t figure out was how the ghost of Jake Griffin was appearing right in front of him.

“He’s been there for almost five minutes,” Miller explained in a low voice, his teeth clenched in nervousness. “We don’t know how it happened. We were just minding our own business and then shit got weird.”

“I thought he’d smoked a bad pack or something,” supplied Murphy. “But then I saw him too. We thought he was trying to say something but we couldn’t understand him.”

Bellamy stayed silent. He was having trouble processing what was happening at the moment.

He’d been there the day Mr. Griffin had died. Well, not  _ there _ exactly but he’d been there when they’d found the body. He’d never forget that day and the seven months since then still felt like no time at all. 

The apparition (he struggled to think of it as a ghost) was missing the usual soft smile that he’d always had. Instead, it was replaced by a look of anger. He was staring right at Bellamy too, ignoring the other two completely. 

Now he was to the point of almost being corporeal. Still wearing the same slacks and sweater he’d been wearing when the ambulance had taken him away.

He opened his mouth to speak and Bellamy almost took an involuntary step back, unsure of what was going to happen next.

“Bellamy,” the apparition began. His voice was the same, but just more distant. As if he was speaking through something that muted his voice just slightly. 

Bellamy almost let out a sob as the man who’d been his father figure for so many years said his name. 

“I’m––I’m here Mr. Griffin,” he responded quickly, his voice thick. “I can hear you.”

“The truth will out,” came the slow reply. Static echoed around them as the three young men waited for him to continue.

“I will see… that the truth comes out,” he repeated more urgently this time. “Clarke must know the truth.”

Both Miller and Murphy’s heads jerked towards Bellamy, who’s own breathing had stopped. Jake Griffin asking for his daughter made him freeze, staring back into the burning eyes of the man. While most of him was still hazy at the edges but Bellamy almost felt like he could reach out and take his hand.

He cleared his throat instead. “The truth, sir? The truth about what?”

The apparition looked around them, his expression flashing between forlorn and fury in a way that no human was able to change so quickly. Then he cast a look behind them, as if looking through the wall and back up at the estate. The three waited with bated breath, hardly daring to move in case everything fell apart. Finally, Mr. Griffin looked back at them. He seemed to grow in anger, filling up the whole corner. 

“The truth about my murder. And how it was Marcus Kane that did it.”

* * *

When she’d been a child, train rides had been one of Clarke Griffin’s favorite ways to travel. 

First, there was the speeding by of the landscapes outside the windows. Even when she was younger, it had given her the itch to paint them. The blur and surrealism of what felt like a different world in between planes of reality. 

Second had been the gentle rock of the train car as it hurtled forward on the tracks. Her father had explained (rather in-depthly) to her how all the mechanisms of the train worked. How fast it was really going, how it stayed up on the tracks. But that power and ferociousness as it chugged onward didn’t reach the inside of the train. Instead it was a soothing rock, a motion that if she unfocused her eyes long enough, made her usually fall asleep leaning up against her father’s shoulder.

Right now though, at the age of twenty, she wasn’t experiencing that feeling. There was no magic to the outside, no parent’s arm to fall asleep against. The usual green grass of the rolling land was dead and brown and it blurred into a monochrome.

November came to the countryside of Arkadia with a bitter cold front. 

It had been cold at The University of Polis too. It all perfectly fit the cloud of mourning that was still hanging over her.

The black turtleneck she’d selected to wear was restricting around her neck, but it was a pressure that she solace in right now. Letting go of grief too suddenly was something she resented –– and something she saw in her own mother.

Her eyes, in a constant storm of anger lately, glanced down at the letter from home that was sitting in her lap.

Her lip curled up at that as she traced the swoosh of the “C” in her name at the top of the letter.

Abby Griffin had been someone Clarke had looked up to at one point in her life. 

But then Clarke had grown up, her mother had become solely focused on her work versus raising her only child, and then Jake Griffin had died. In less than a year, she’d also remarried her dead husband’s best friend, Marcus Kane, and he’d stepped into his new solo role as the CEO of ARK Engineering. 

It made Clarke’s blood curdle to think about. 

It was also why she was on the train back from university, thanks to this letter that was in her hand.

She smoothed her hand over the paper. Wrinkled and worn from where she’d held it tightly in her grip, she’d hardly let it go since she’d received it.

Bellamy’s handwriting was similar to how she remembered it, but she’d known him for so long that she was able to still see where it had become refined. A looping cursive, one of the only people she knew to still write like that. Even when they’d been kids, stealing back pages from her father’s old notebooks to practice writing in, he’d been extraordinarily careful with penmanship. Much better than all of the other boys at their school.

But the content of the letter was just as infuriating as his handwriting was nostalgic. 

It was vague in a way. But Bellamy and Clarke knew each other like the back of their hands and she could pick up the subtly in his message. He’d written in a way that led her to think he’d been wary of anyone else reading its contents. That there was something important in the words that weren’t there.

He requested that it was urgent that she returned home, that it was crucial for her to. Bellamy rarely urged her to do anything, knowing full-well that she was too stubborn to listen to many outside opinions. But when he did––she knew to listen. The follow up part was the most intriguing and anger-inducing part. Not the words so much as themselves, but the meaning behind them. 

It mainly discussed Marcus Kane, her new step-father.

It was still a jarring thought to have, no matter how much she thought about it to herself. Her own father not even a full year six-feet underground, she already had a step-father. Her mother had already remarried.

Kane had been a lifelong figure in her life; he was practically her uncle. He’d been best friends with her father, a close partner at work. While he’d originally started out in politics, he’d explained at one point that he was tired of all of the mud-slinging and the difficulty that came with having a successful career in the world of being a senator. So he’d joined her father at ARK Engineering. 

Maybe if it hadn’t been for the last few years, followed up of course by his marriage to her mother, she wouldn’t despise the man. But early on, it was clear that you could take the man out of politics but not take the politics out of the man. 

He was ruthless at ARK, leading with a much heavier fist than Jake did. At times he was too smooth, like oil slick, maneuvering his way throughout the company. And even deeper into the Griffin family’s lives. Early on, both of her parents had assumed that her dislike for him was based on her possessiveness as an only child. They simply claimed that she needed to adjust to the presence of a family friend that meant her parents spent less time with her. While she’d always had a feeling that it was more than that, it came into full bloom after her father’s death. The grisly accident in his study on a rainy April morning had shattered the otherwise idyllic life that Clarke had been leading. She’d been away at college already and had received the news as soon as Bellamy could reach her.

Kane had moved into the house to help take care of her mother so she wasn’t alone. One more mark against him. 

The wedding had simply been the cherry on top.

It had been a late September wedding at her mother’s family’s winery. 

Supposedly it had been beautiful but Clarke wouldn’t know. She’d refused to go.

The horror that had taken over her, clouded her own mourning process, had been indescribable. It was nearly impossible to imagine that somehow her mother had been able to remarry so quickly, her husband practically still warm in his grave.

Bellamy knew about her distaste for Kane, even shared it to almost the same extent. Especially after the wedding, he’d let her scream on the phone about the man for hours as he let her get her anger out. So to have a letter that heavily featured him, commenting on some upcoming changes in the household that were under his charge, was enough to alight sirens in her mind. Something was deeply wrong and somehow Kane was at the center of it. 

The intriguing part of the letter was the postscript at the bottom. A simple line,  _ “PS. I found something of your fathers that he wanted to make sure you knew about, I look forward to discussing it with you.” _

There wasn’t possibly anything that she could imagine it would be. Bellamy had been there at the reading of the will, had been there as she and he mother had gone through his study. What could he possibly know that she didn’t? A message from her father?

The question plagued her the whole train ride back home. The scenery grew dark as night fell in the countryside and she was ansty to get out of the small compartment. For the duration of the taxi ride home, she dug her nails into her palms to keep herself still and not make the driver anxious.

Thankfully, Bellamy was waiting at the gates for her. 

As the taxi driver pulled her luggage out of the trunk, she flung herself into his expectant arms.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” he whispered softly into her hair, planting a quick kiss to her forehead before untangling himself so he could grab her suitcase.

He smelled like home and for a moment, all of the concerns and sadness that had been cloaking her left her body. She was simply coming home, visiting her best friend and most important person in her life.

Bellamy kept his tone light as they made their way back up the property. It had clearly rained earlier in the day, but it had let up and given way to a misty fog that cloaked everything. The streetlights that lined the long, private driveway were haloed by a pale yellow light and cast a clear path for them. Up ahead rose the estate. 

The Georgian style house rose up high above the grounds, its sandstone bricks darkened by an early rainstorm. Throughout Clarke’s childhood, Abby had taken pride in it visually and Jake had taken pride in its architectural integrity. Both of them had loved its history and that was what had been passed along to Clarke. Neither of her parents were artistic, but they’d appreciated good art her whole life and so it was in this grand building that she’d wandered the halls as a child, staring at the large paintings on the walls and learning about the finer details that created their estate. It stood tall at two large floors, though its third was masked by the roofing. Moss clung to the roughened stone sides, climbing and creeping its way across the surface, while two stone lions awaited arrivals by the stone steps to the front. 

Clarke hadn’t always understood that its grandeur was unique. Not every family was able to own one, inherited or purchased. And while most of the children at her private schools lived in similar ones (still usually smaller), that wasn’t always the case. Bellamy had taught her that at age nine, when in all of his thirteen-year-old indignation, had informed her that she was “old money.” It had been his explanation to her as to why he called her princess. 

Luckily, the nickname had spun itself into an affectionate one. 

Despite the extravagance of the estate and its now haunted feeling after the death of her father on its very grounds, it was still home to her. Clarke couldn’t help but sigh in relief at seeing it again. 

They were nearly to the front entrance a noise startled them. 

“Clarke! You’re home!”

The breathless voice of an unfortunately familiar voice came up from the side of them. Pausing and turning, Clarke grimaced as Finn Collins appeared. Her ex-boyfriend and the son of one of the higher ups at ARK. The former part meant he knew his way around the property, the latter meaning he still showed up randomly at the estate whenever his father came to go over anything. Her mother or Kane must have been having some type of late night planning session with Collins Sr. And since Finn was training to step into his shoes one day, it was thus an extension for him to come.

“Your mom mentioned she wasn't sure when your train got in,” he said breathlessly. It was as if he’d been waiting for her. Just behind her, Clarke could practically feel Bellamy rolling his eyes at the desperation rolling off of the young man.

“Finn,” Clarke coolly greeted. “And no she didn’t know when, I simply told her that I was coming in today.”

An awkward silence settled between the three of them. Finn’s eyes kept shifting to Bellamy behind her.

That had always been a bone of contention in their brief relationship. Once it became clear that Finn wasn’t going to be able to let go of how close their friendship was, she was more than happy to add that to the list of reasons to break up with him.

“Well,” he coughed, “may I help you take your bag in?”

“She’s got me,” Bellamy interrupted. While his voice was cordial, there was a hint of threat behind it. 

He’d at one point told Clarke to ban him from the property and sometimes she still wondered if she should have taken him up on the idea.

“Okay,” Finn replied. A bit too obviously sullen for Clarke’s taste. “Maybe we can have a glass of wine or something once you’re settled then?”

He clearly wasn’t getting the message. With a roll of her eyes, Clarke wished that he spent half as much time understanding signals as he spent time on perfecting his always perfectly coiffed hair.

“Finn, you’re not going to be able to convince me to get back together with you. It didn’t work right after we broke up,  _ over _ a year ago, and it certainly isn’t going to work now. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to relax and spend the evening with my best friend. And I don’t want to see you skulking about. I know you’ve been advised to stay away from me and I would prefer if you followed through with that.” She spat out the last part. 

To the barest of credit possible, Finn looked a bit chagrin. He muttered an apology, casting a dark look at Bellamy, and turned on his heel to return to the offices.

Bellamy and Clarke waited a few extra minutes before following him in, hopeful that they could have a bigger distance in between them.

“I still hate him.”

“I know you do Bell, don’t worry.”

Clarke’s boots were heavy against the tile as they walked in. The black and off-white pattern had served as a sort of hopscotch area for her when she was younger. Then it had served as a death march as she’d followed the EMTs to the ambulance, clutching at her father’s cold hand.

She hadn’t been home since the funeral. On the inside, it was like nothing had changed. 

Though the dark green walls of the front foyer certainly felt more oppressive, rather than their original lush feeling.

With a quick wordless exchange, Bellamy and Clarke headed for the back stairwell that was tucked away to their left. He knew instinctively that she wanted to avoid her mother, and no doubt Kane as well. So with a hand to her back and the other still holding her suitcase, he followed up closely behind her to the upper levels of the house.

Her bedroom was on the second floor, close to the door from the stairs. He’d always teased her that she belonged in a tower, but now he didn’t get any room to say anything since he lived in the house too. 

It was still perfectly presented, as if a showroom. Clarke knew her mother had their maids still come in here and keep it clean. Whether it was for appearance’s sake or for the potential of her coming home, she was never quite sure. 

But then rather linger in the bedroom, they simply dropped her luggage off and then continued onward. The staircase narrowed, the walls closing in as the steps grew smaller and they went higher. The third floor was smaller than all of the rest. At one point it would have been housing for on-property servants. The Griffins hadn’t had a need for that so it had been renovated to become more open. At first, a semi-attic status had been given to it. Then, once Bellamy had moved in with them, it became a playroom. And then once she was a teenager, it became her art studio.

It was here that Clarke finally and truly let out the long breath she’d been holding, apprehension fully leaving her body. 

“So,” she began as she dropped onto the long leather couch she had up against the wall. “Tell me about the note.”

Bellamy gave her an amused smile in return. 

“Can we catch up first? I haven’t seen you in seven months and it’s the least we’ve talked since… ever really.”

She let out a huff, but his point was fair.

Unlike her mother, grief was all-consuming for Clarke. 

While not completely a deviation from her usual wardrobe, she’d forgone all color in her wardrobe and still wore all black every day. Though the crying before bed phase had slowed, it didn’t stop the random outbursts that still occasionally happened. And most of all, she just felt like a shadow charading around as a human. 

Her father had been her everything. Even when he was busy at work, he had time for his daughter. She’d inherited too many traits from her mother for them to ever truly get along. But her father had been different. Despite his role at work and the money, he’d remained soft and kind. Motivated by a belief that he could bring good to the world with his mind and his hands. He’d instilled that theory into Clarke with her art as well. And even though she still didn’t really believe she’d achieved that, it was a good thought to hold onto. What was the point of the passage of time if it wasn’t marked with weekly Sunday night calls from him?

The brutality of his death and her finding him were core points to her mourning as well. Anchors, holding her down in her grief that she couldn’t work through. Things she wasn’t sure if she  _ should _ work through. Should you just move on from a man dying a brutal, unexplained death in his own home? And then you being the one to find him? 

She didn’t think so. It was less than a year, barely eight months.

But she could tell it would mean a lot to Bellamy to at least pretend for a few moments that she was home under normal circumstances. Curling up her legs beneath her, she shifted herself closer to him and propped her chin up on her hand as he began to talk.

He kicked it off with more updates on his studies, a continuation of his research that he’d been working on since graduating college. Outside of the giant libraries in cities, it was hard to compete with the Griffin resources (plus no rent). Some of it still went over Clarke’s head, at no fault of Bellamy’s explanations of what he was doing. The classics weren’t quite her forte, but she still loved to listen to him explain the stories that he was tracing throughout history and how they connected to modern storytelling. 

He artfully refrained from any updates on her mother, knowing that she’d bristle at the mere mention of her. So instead he caught her up on Octavia and how she was set to graduate high school soon. Even with Jake’s passing, Abby had stayed true to their promise to help support any path that the young Blake sibling wanted to go. Which meant that she wasn’t actually home at the moment, getting the chance to attend the Trikru Institution for the semester. The idea of living in an off-the-grid campus at age seventeen sounded like a nightmare to Clarke, who’d chosen to go to Italy her senior year much to Bellamy’s delight, but it seemed perfectly fitting for Octavia. 

However once he was done gushing about how proud he was of his sister for beginning to settle into herself, it was clear that Bellamy was fishing for other points of conversation to delay the inevitable. He seemed nervous, anxious about approaching what he’d written to her about.

Clarke adored him dearly, but now didn’t feel like the time to stall.  _ He _ had been the one to bring her here and had stressed its importance, she didn’t want him to worry too much now about her. She was grieving, not fragile.

She paused him with a quick finger to his lips, an old habit she’d always done when she wanted to get a word in as kids. He startled at first at the contact but then eased, a smile ghosting against her skin as he let his words fall quiet.

“Now can we please talk about it?”

She didn’t mean to sound testy. Bellamy had always done this; he always tried to help her see things more positively. To distract her from the stress and anxiety that could easily weigh her down.

But his letter was burning a hole in the pocket of her skirt and she needed to know what it was about.

He puffed out his cheeks as he let out a long breath, studying her. But finally, he seemed to agree that it was time.

“I was going down to see Miller and Murphy,” he began. 

She quickly interjected, “You haven’t started smoking again have you?”

He smiled at her frown; she knew it was because she was more pouty than she would have liked rather than angry. For all of the artists that she hung around, one of the habits that she still despised was smoking. She hadn’t made an ultimatum to Bellamy about it, but he’d taken her issue with it seriously.

“No, I promise I still haven’t touched one in years.” He threw up a teasing scout’s honor, but his expression was genuine. So she relaxed back down and let him continue.

“I got there and everything was weird. The lights were off, screens flickering all over the place. Then I hear more than see the two of them and they ask me if I can ‘him.’”

“Him,” Clarke repeated. He nodded. She had a strange feeling in her gut that she knew where this was going.

“And in the corner, at first I couldn’t see him really well, but then it all sort of came into view.” He paused, swallowing nervously. “Your father.”

She squeezed her eyes shut at the mention.

A flashback of her mother’s curdling scream when she’d walked into the room, finding Clarke sobbing over her father’s dead body. The blood that stained her hands and her hair from desperately trying to do CPR. It had been a lost cause from the start.

“What do you mean you saw my father?”

“I don’t know Clarke. You know me, I’ve never really believed in that type of stuff. It makes for a good story but in real life? Never. But I swear it on my life––O’s life––that I saw him standing there. As a ghost.”

“And he just stood there?” It was impossible to stop herself from sounding incredulous. But as shocking as this story was, she couldn’t help but find herself believing it.

At that, Bellamy’s expression grew dark. Clouded over. 

“He… he wanted to tell us something. But mostly, to tell you something, to pass information along to you to get you home. The apparition––er, your father, said that he’d been murdered.”

Those words had barely sunken in before Bellamy added:

“By Kane.”

The room spun, even as Clarke remained seated.

She almost heaved, trying to steady out her breath. It wasn’t working very well.

It had been difficult to understand what had happened that day. As much as her parents had worked on the estate before her birth, it was never quite a finished project. It was still old, still not as stable as most other homes. In some ways, it was certainly superior. But nothing was perfect. And that imperfect charm led to minor issues. Most of which, her father had been working on. 

He apparently hadn’t noticed that his bookshelf in his private office was coming off of its place against the wall. Nor had he thought about the dangers of the marble bust that was on its top shelf, not considering what would happen if both fell on him. The bookshelf pinning his legs, the marble gashing into his head. 

A grim, gruesome death to be sure.

But murder?

There had been a brief investigation of course. The Griffins never lacked for effort. But with no other fingerprints, records of infrastructural damage that was still being worked on, made it impossible to see any other explanation. There hadn’t been enough motive for anyone, not when money was going to all of the right people and places already. Despite all of that though, the pit of grief that sat leaden in Clarke’s stomach had always held onto how horrible of a death it was. And somehow, this was a missing puzzle piece to the unexplainable part of all of this. She’d been robbed of a parent but something had felt more sinister about this, more unfair than just a freak accident. 

And now that was for good reason. 

“He said,” Bellamy’s voice spoke up again breaking her spiraling thoughts, “that the ‘truth will out.’”

She looked up at Bellamy, her heart cracking.

“ _ The Merchant of Venice _ ,” they each said in unison, Bellamy with urgency and her with horror.

While she’d had a general interest in literature, Bellamy had been the one to take to it most of the two of them. From when he’d visited the house to when he’d moved in, it had been one of the first things to bond him and her father. Especially old literature and plays. Mythology to Shakespeare, the two of them had spent hours in the library while Clarke had painted, pouring over old tomes and special editions that the Griffin family had collected over time.

Any ghost of her father would have immediately known to have utilized that connection to prove himself to Bellamy. And it was enough for Clarke too.

“The truth will out,” she muttered to herself, wringing her hands. She only stopped when Bellamy gently reached his own hand out to still hers. She accepted it happily, letting his larger hand engulf hers as she tightly clutched at it. 

“He must mean for it to be revealed what Kane did to him. To get vengeance for it.”

_ She ignored Bellamy’s mumbled correction, “justice.” _

It continued to click in place.

“And he wants me to be the one to do it. That’s why he had you bring me back, he knew I should be the one to do it!”

She jumped to her feet, Bellamy’s hand falling back to his lap.

“I’ll have to do something quickly. But  _ what _ do I do?”

She immediately began to pace around the studio. Blank canvases and boxes of brushes silently stared at her as she tracked back and forth. Bellamy let her do it, his own silence comforting as he simply reminded her that he was there for her.

Running through plan after plan, Clarke struggled to come up with something. As much as it would be nice to just declare it at dinner one night, it wouldn’t be enough. Not when he’d just be able to laugh her off, shrug off her accusation with a bite of food and everyone else none the wiser. No, she had to prove it. She had to make it indisputable of what he had done.

But eventually the long day began to catch up to her. The long train ride, coupled with the constant exhaustion she felt lately, made it that the high energy of learning the information had now fizzled out. The rush of the ugly truth had been replaced by a weariness deep within her. When it practically felt like she’d worn a path in the wooden floors from all of her pacing, she finally collapsed at her large desk. 

Standing up as she in turn sat, Bellamy made his way over to her. His fingers gently threaded their way through her hair, loosening the black ribbon she’d had to pull the front pieces back and letting it slip loosely down. She hummed pleasantly into his touch, but didn’t have the strength to do much else.

Bellamy let out a concerned sigh as he observed her. “I know you must be tired, Clarke. I’ll leave you to it for now. Think about it, but please also take care of yourself. You know I will help, but try for yourself as well.”

He leaned over, kissing her on the forehead like he had when she’d arrived. His hand, in turn, grasped hers to give it a tight squeeze before letting it go. She immediately missed the warmth he provided, but he was right. She could feel the sleep taking over her and she slumped over to rest her head on her desk. She told herself it would be just for a minute before she made her way back down to maybe grab maybe a late night snack from the kitchens, then making her way to bed for real.

It was well over an hour later when Clarke began to stir again.

Clarke struggled awake, her mind fuzzy from the awkwardly long nap. There was a reason she so rarely took them.

But as she was rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she felt a prickling on the back of her neck.

The sensation of being watched.

Slowly, she twisted and looked behind her.

“Father,” she breathed out, a sob bubbling up inside her.

He was how Bellamy had described him. An apparition, a ghost. Milky white with only the faintest of color tones tinged in the shadows of his body. The clothes she remembered him wearing that day, though without the blood. While Bellamy had described him as somber at best, serious, he had a gentle and small smile for his only daughter.

“Clarke,” he said warmly. She didn’t realize ghosts’ voices could crack, and maybe she’d imagined it. But she felt it all the same.

“You’re really here. Bellamy told me,” she hiccuped a sob back, “and I trust him, always. But to really see you. Are you okay?” 

“I’m not in pain, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replied, his eyes crinkling up slightly. “But I am still restless.”

“You must avenge me, and my death. Your mother––” here his voice really did break and Clarke jumped up to her feet.

She wanted to cry that she couldn’t run and hold him, to comfort him to distract him from the fact that his wife had barely waited for his body to grow cold before remarrying. The insult to injury became even worse of course now that she knew it was Kane that had killed him. 

“You saw my death.” 

It wasn’t a question. She wondered how the spirit realm worked. If it was anything like the stories that Bellamy had devoured. Had someone tried to walk him to eternity before he turned around for his unfinished business?

She nodded and he shook his head regretfully.

“No parent should see their child die, but for you to have seen me die in that way…” he trailed off. 

“That’s why I’m here,” she filled in. “Because I saw it, I know what you’re telling me is true.”

A fury rose up in the apparition’s face, still so real that she still couldn’t help but be surprised that she couldn’t hear the sound of him breathing as he spoke to her.

“I can finally rest then, if this all comes to fruition and is revealed.”

He sounded so tired. No doubt from his endless walking of this estate, knowing that life was continuing on and that his killer was not only free, but infiltrating his office and his family.

“Don’t worry,” Clarke said fiercely. “I know I can come up with a plan to reveal all of this.”

“My grief will be my mask,” she said quickly after a thought. “Mother already thinks I’m overreacting. I wouldn’t be surprised if Kane thinks so too, probably even more so. I can use that to my advantage.”

Her father smiled proudly, reaching his hand up towards her. Though she could see it as he trailed it down her cheek, there was nothing but a brush of cold in its place. But the gesture was enough and this time she allowed the tears to flow. 

“I will avenge you, Father. I will make Kane rue the day he killed you, and order will be restored to this family,” she vowed.

And with those words, the apparition vanished into thin air.

+++

At the end of the day, it required very little from Clarke to throw herself deeper into the grieving process to avoid any suspicion from Kane. Luckily, she was very good at avoiding him after years of practice.

Someone else though was more difficult, but his nagging presence seemed like it would further work in Clarke’s favor. 

Finn kept bothering her. More than normal even. She wanted to feel sympathetic to his view, he had been the first person she’d believed herself to be in love with afterall. But it almost felt like he had driven himself to madness in the process, forgoing any sort of understanding of what distance meant. He showed up more frequently now, at random times so as to confuse whichever maid opened the door at that time. Clarke’s apparent grief, both the real and exaggerated, was causing him too much concern for his own good. 

It certainly played well into the performance of everything, but it was driving her up a wall at the same time.

The easiest part of this though was her ability now to openly despise Kane. Dinners became war zones, where she would switch between crying about past memories or accusing Kane of moving around her father’s belongings that were still there. When it became unbearable, there wasn’t a question when she began to refuse to see either of them. Hiding out in the library with Bellamy, focusing on her painting in the studio, it was all perfect. They simply saw her grief as too overwhelming to be around them, never once suspecting what she was planning.

But even as the tension in the house ratched up, she had to keep things on schedule. She couldn’t get ahead of herself. Because as tempting as it was to just start screaming at Kane that she knew, she had to make sure that everything was in place. That once he knew, there was no time for him to plan anything else. 

Because one deep-rooted fear that had emerged ever since she’d begun to piece this all together.

She’d suspected for years that she didn’t just see Bellamy as a defacto older brother. And he’d certainly never viewed her in the same lens as Octavia. Especially since it had all been an accident that the two Blake siblings had ended up in their care. The death of their only living parent, Aurora, had shifted everything. While she’d been Abby’s personal assistant, she’d brought her children with her and it had only taken about thirty minutes for them to become best friends. And once the cancer had spread too far, it hadn’t even been a question for Bellamy and Octavia to come under the Griffin’s wing. 

But despite those many years of them roaming the estate, and then eventually living there, Bellamy and her had always had a different relationship with each other. There was a reason that all of their exes hadn’t liked how close they were. They’d understood each other on a different level, practically able to read each other's minds. With him also being able to see her father’s ghost, there was a layer to it all that added to it as well now––he’d entrusted Bellamy to bring her home and reveal the truth to her. That level of trust, even with her father no longer living, only enforced all of her feelings.

And being home now, feeling Bellamy’s unconditional support for her, Clarke was finally able to give a word to what she felt for him. 

She didn’t even have to question if he felt it too. 

But if she and Bellamy came out as in a relationship, there was no telling what Kane would do to him. He’d already murdered her father; Bellamy wasn’t even technically family. And his loyalty had always fallen on the side of her father. If Kane needed to hurt Clarke, that was how he’d be able to do it. And as much as she was willing to risk everything, including herself, she couldn’t risk Bellamy. 

So despite her desperate need to kiss him whenever she wanted and the desire to feel his hands on her, she swallowed back her feelings. She had to follow through with her plan to avenge her father first; that had to be her top priority.

She wouldn’t put him in danger.

One reassuring aspect of all of this at least, a spark of relief that was helping hold her together, were the new bodyguards that had been assigned to Clarke (and ergo Bellamy as well). 

John Murphy and, to Clarke’s surprise, his wife Emori.

Her first surprise was that Murphy was married, though she supposed he was a closer friend of Bellamy’s than he was of her. But then again, no one on the security detail wore jewelry for safety reasons so she hadn’t seen Miller’s engagement ring until his fiance, Jackson, had come by one night at the end of his shift. 

Her second surprise was that they were both qualified enough that Abby trusted them to look after her, though minutes after meeting Emori she could see why. So while they’d been assigned to her out of fear for Clarke’s supposedly deteriorating mental health, she felt better knowing that they would also be able to look after Bellamy if things were to go awry. 

Emori wore a glove on her left hand, seemingly all of the time, though that was far less intriguing than the face tattoo that swirled alongside her cheekbones. Despite the intense first impression though, she’d immediately went to hug Clarke when they met and she had an idea why Murphy had so easily fallen for her. The intense yet friendly woman’s presence helped reassure Clarke that Bellamy would have some level of protection as well. It would have to be enough until after the reveal.

Which hopefully wouldn’t be long from now. She was currently on her way to set one of the larger motions of her plan into action.

The hallways were silent, the new usual of the estate. Most of it remained untouched from her childhood. Paintings that had been there her whole life, statues silently watching her as she made her way through the house. The gray of the winter day outside dulled the colors of the otherwise warm toned wood, adding a chill to the expansive place. Heating such a large building was a futile effort. 

Down one flight of stairs to the second floor, then down one more to the first. Clarke had spent so much time in her studio that she’d rarely used anything except for the back stairways, even Murphy and Emori following suit and keeping in the hidden points of the estate. But now, Clarke had returned to the main hallways and stairs. The openness was dizzying, a harsh contrast to the downward sloping ceilings of the studio and the tightness of the back stairs. Her boots were silent on the long carpet stretched down the hallway, keeping her own movements quiet and not disturbing the slumber of the house. 

Though she’d managed to dodge Murphy and Emori, as well as any servants that remained on staff, she wasn’t able to make it to her mother’s office completely unspotted. 

“Clarke.” A clipped voice came from behind her.

The singular greeting of her name was all that Marcus Kane seemed interested in saying. All the better for it, she thought with an internal sneer as she turned to see him standing behind her.

“Kane.”

He’d never asked her to call her anything more familiar; she never would.

“It’s good to see you out of that cave of yours, your mother has been so worried.” His voice was like oil and she almost laughed at the clearly intentional word choice that left him out, as if she could have ever thought he’d be concerned about her. 

She didn’t respond, staring him down. 

Since the funeral, the last time she’d seen him, he’d changed somewhat. Deeper lines cut through his face, his once-clean shaven jaw now hidden behind a salt-and-pepper beard. It was like a mask had hardened onto him. It took every ounce of will power she had to not snarl in face. To mock him, ask how it felt to sit on the bones of her father’s work and success as a false patriarch. 

“The death of a loved one takes a long time to process.”

He hummed in non-committal agreement.

“Is there anything else you’d like to say to me?”

It came out as a challenge, one that made his nostrils flare ever just so. Whether he knew it or not, Kane had entered the dance.

“No, no. That’s all.”

And with that, he gave her a curt nod and strode away. His suit, as usual, was impeccably formed to his body. Clarke let out a long, shaky breath once he’d finally disappeared from view. She felt more imbalanced than she’d realized. The amount of effort she was putting into this was maybe taking more of a toll than she’d originally realized.

Taking a deep breath, Clarke then schooled her face into sadness and reached up to knock on the door. There was a pause of silence after the sound reverberated through the hallway before––

“Come in,” floated an answer.

She swung the heavy door open and entered the office. The room was a deep, muted navy color and the somberness of the room wasn’t lost on her. Back in the day, its richness had allowed for deep focus. Now it felt as cold as everything else. And in the center sat her mother, her head bent over as she frowned at the laptop in front of her.

A pang of sadness hit Clarke in the gut.

Within her cloud of anger, mixed in with the charade she’d been performing to disguise herself as mad with grief, she’d been focused more so on herself. Followed by keeping a close eye on Kane, as well as devoting her time to her art as well as Bellamy––him acting as her only thread of sanity. She hadn’t given her mother as much thought as everything else. But now, standing in front of her, she was surprised by the physical changes she’d been going through. Her hair, usually lusciously long and curly, had grown gray since the funeral. Thick chunks of silver alternating through now mousy brown locks that hung limply. Clarke wasn’t sure she remembered the bags under her eyes from before either.

She wondered if her father had come to haunt Abby at all.

Maybe it was too painful for him.

But the idea that her mother was suffering didn’t bring the same satisfaction as knowing that she was going to reveal Kane’s deeds to the world. Though she’d been consumed with fury at the haste that she’d been remarried, she could see now a toll that had taken over. Though living and still working, it was clear that Jake wasn’t the only victim in this situation. Clarke wouldn’t just be getting vengeance for her father, she’d be saving her mother as well.

Which made all of this that much more utmost importance.

“Mother,” she began slowly. Abby looked up with a delayed blink, as if she hadn’t even realized that her daughter had entered the room. 

“Clarke!” She hurried to stand up. “It’s so good to see you. You’ve felt like a ghost in the home since you got back.”

The comparison felt too spot on for Clarke’s comfort, so she quickly shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been busy.” An accurate word choice, even if it wasn’t in a way that her mother would expect. “I was hoping I could get your permission something.”

Maybe she should have felt guilty at the way her mother’s face lit up at the idea that she wanted to talk. But this was for her sake as much as her father’s, so that was reason enough to squash that feeling away.

“Anything, what do you need?”

Clarke took a deep breath. “Well, school has been really hard for me this semester. Even my summer studio sessions didn’t help, so I’m feeling behind. But being home has sparked… a new source of inspiration. And I was hoping I could maybe host an exhibit for my art. Here, at home.”

Abby stared at her, just long enough to make her anxious.

“We could invite the company,” she tacked on, taking on a more pleading tone. “It hurts that most of them haven’t been here since the funeral. And it would help me with my portfolio while also giving us a chance to move forward. It could be in honor of Father; he wouldn’t want us to let this house never celebrate again.”

It was apparently the exact words that Abby needed to hear.

“Oh honey,” she gushed, “that’s a wonderful idea. He would have loved that.”

It was settled then. Clarke would be allowed to host a gallery show in their house, Abby would send out the invite at the end of the week. Then, in two weeks time, it would occur. 

Clarke tried to make sure that her glee for it matched the level of what it should be for: an opportunity to focus on her art and showcase her talents. Though as hard as she tried, her mind was entirely focused on what she could only imagine would be Kane’s face when he realized what she was revealing. As she walked back down the hall to her studio, her pieces now on a deadline, she found herself waffling between which color his skin would turn when he accepted that he’d been caught. Would it lose all color, dropping into an ashy white of horror? Or would it be a mottled, purply red from the sheer fury of being caught?

So wrapped up in picturing the potential outcomes, she almost tripped over Murphy’s outstretched legs. He was waiting alongside the wall by the staircase to the studio. Beside him, Emori twirled a small knife in hand and Bellamy was waiting alongside her. 

She couldn’t help the confident smirk that emerged on her.

“No need to get up,” she replied as she saw them start to shift up, “I’m just going to be in my studio all day. This is the only entrance. And everything is going to be taken care of.”

The offhand comment sounded more cryptic than she’d meant it to. She hadn’t clued them into her plans yet, and Bellamy only knew vague parts of it.

“Clarke,” Murphy said low and cautiously, his eyes narrowing as she passed him.

“What are you up to?” Emori followed up with her own question. Curiosity was rolling off of her in waves. 

Bellamy remained silent, watching her carefully. She wanted to kiss the crease off of his forehead, tell him to not worry about her (even though she knew that would be a fruitless request). He’d already given her such a steady foundation by never leaving her side, she couldn’t let him get too deep in yet. Not when he’d most likely be there at the showcase of the art. He’d be there for the reveal. 

“Don’t worry about me,” she called back lightly. “I have some painting to do.”

* * *

It was the week of the art exhibit and Bellamy could feel the unease in the estate beginning to boil over.

He watched with agony as Clarke continued to spiral into the grieving process. While he knew some of it was all staged for her audience, the members of the estate, he wondered how much of it was genuine. A pit deep within him told him that there was at least some that was. He didn’t regret bringing her home; Jake deserved justice but he hadn’t thought about how much she would throw herself into all of this.

She painted like a possessed woman. He’d find her in the studio, fingers and clothes stained with drying paint as she was swallowed up by enormous canvases. She didn’t let him see what she was working on though. She’d halt him at the front of the room, dragging him to the couch to sit with her and inhaling whatever food it was that he’d brought up with him. 

“Murphy and Emori keep telling me that you’re locking them out of the studio.”

She narrowed her eyes at him over her oversized mug of coffee. It was a morning stop for him today and he had a feeling this wasn’t her first ingestion of copious amounts of caffeine today. 

“They’re just outside, it's not like anyone can get in without them seeing,” she responded brattily.

“That’s not the point of bodyguards, Clarke,” he reminded her, trying to not lecture too much. “Especially since they’re theoretically here to make sure you don’t do anything drastic, remember? Not because of Kane but how intense you’re grieving.”

She sighed, unfolding herself from the pretzel she’d contorted herself into and stood up. Even with the amount of painting she was doing, she’d refused to change out of her black clothing. Her black plaid pants had streaks of red and white on them, as well as the loose-fitted blouse. She looked every bit the art student she was, as if it was just a normal day for her and she didn’t have vengeance on her mind. As if the reason she was locked away in her studio all day wasn’t because the man that was now her step-father had killed her father in cold blood. That she’d spoken with the ghost of her father in this very room.

“It’s working though isn’t it? Kane has no idea that I’m onto him. That he won’t be getting away with all of this.”

It was Bellamy’s turn to let out his own sigh. Clarke was stubborn. Most of the time he didn’t mind it, but he was worried about her right now. Around them, giant curtains hung from the ceiling to hide away the completed paintings of the series. It felt almost as much of a crime scene as Jake’s office had been that day, sheets preserving and hiding everything behind a gauzy shield.

“It’s working,” was all he settled on. 

And it was. No one in the house, outside of himself (though he suspected Murphy and Emori knew something was amiss), would have even thought that Clarke was mentally capable of plotting something right now. It meant that Kane was being himself, unguarded. She had always been clever and so far, her idea was all going according to plan.

She nodded satisfactorily at his words though, ignoring the concern that laced them as she gulped back the last dregs of her surely-cold coffee and returned to her painting. He watched as she dipped her brush into the paint, a shockingly bright red, and fell back into focus. His eyes followed each movement of her arm, her body swaying as she painted each stroke. It was a ballet and the canvas was her partner. It was beautiful.

As was she, despite the mess she’d built up around herself.

The worst timing of all of this was that he was pretty sure he was finally ready to acknowledge that he was in love with her.

It just couldn’t have been any poorly timed.

Certainly not because he didn’t think she had feelings for him––it helped that they finally were both single at the same time. 

But Clarke was single-minded to a fault. And who was he to try and distract her from getting justice for her father’s murder? Hell, he wanted to make sure that the truth came to light and that Marcus Kane was locked away for eternity. And even if she returned the same feelings, she wouldn’t be able to reciprocate entirely. Not yet at least. And he felt that it was much more important for him to be there to support her now than to distract her with declarations of love.

So instead, he tried to show it as best as he could as he helped her navigate everything. Like bringing her coffee and meals and being a steady presence for her, like he was now. With a sigh, and that thought comforting him, he settled into his own studies on the couch as she continued on, unaware of his thoughts.

When the day of the exhibit finally arrived, Bellamy knew he should have expected it to be on the scale that it was. Clarke, in all of her life, had never done anything on a small scale.

There was an often forgotten space in the house that they were now able to set up for the showcase. At some point in history, it had most likely served as a ballroom. Even when the Griffins had hosted events in his time at the estate, it was rare enough that Bellamy almost never went in there. Especially since when he’d been a kid, he’d much preferred reading in the library to socializing. The dust had been removed from the room to host the post-funeral gathering but since then, it had fallen back into the shadows of the house. 

Clarke apparently thought that meant it was the perfect location to host the exhibit. With anyone’s last memory of this room as a somber experience, it aligned with her motivation to gain justice for her father. 

He watched as people poured into the room. There were a few cocktails being served along with light appetizers, though he purposefully stayed away from the alcohol to keep a clear mind. Some faces were familiar and some were strangers. The familiar ones for the most part greeted him, remembering him from their times of seeing him with the Griffins back in the day at work events. To the strangers, he was simply another body there, which served his own purpose of disappearing into the crowd. He didn’t need Kane seeing him and noting if anything was off-kilter about tonight.

But as he waited impatiently for it to all begin, he found himself pulled into a conversation with a light touch to his arm. Turning, he turned face to face with Abby Griffin.

“Quite the turnout, isn’t it?”

He nodded. Clarke had been thrilled with the guest list. High profile people, people who’d known her father intimately. Whenever whatever happened tonight happened, it would be people that would see the success of her night and the fall of Kane and not have a doubt of the story that had been presented to them.

“I’m sure it’ll really improve Clarke’s mood,” he replied. Which was true, even if it wasn’t for the traditional mourning that Abby was assuming this was all about.

“You helped her a lot with this, correct?”

“Yes and no. You know how Clarke is,” he laughed, “I was moral support. There to make sure she didn’t forget to eat.”

That comment drew a small chuckle out of Abby. But then she grew more somber.

“You’re good for her, I hope you know that,” she said suddenly. He glanced down at her in surprise. She smiled sheepishly as his bewildered expression. 

“I know I’ve not… I’ve not been as present in your time here as Jake was. And of course, Clarke. But it’s not for lack of interest or care,” she explained. “Like my daughter, I have a hard time escaping my work. And then when Jake passed away, it was all so much easier to continue to hide away behind everything. And Marcus understood, but I’m afraid that it’s done very little for my relationships with others.”

She squared up her shoulder and turned to face him.

“But I do hope, Bellamy, that you know that you’re more than just a part of this family. You and Octavia will always be able to call this home, but you also have my blessing. And Jake’s as well, I know he would have been over the moon about you two.”

Bellamy wasn’t sure how to respond, so he found himself wordlessly shaking her hand and nodding along.

It wasn’t… incorrect? He and Clarke hadn’t said anything yet to each other. But his thoughts and feelings earlier that week had only been magnified as the days to the exhibit had neared. They’d now fallen asleep together multiple times on the couch, intertwined tightly so as not to fall off of the edge. It was all too natural to be anything near platonic, and the same could be said for the sleepy way that Clarke gazed at him every time she woke up that way.

And he supposed that once you agreed to help someone avenge their father’s death after seeing the ghost of him, things were probably pretty serious.

Abby had moved away from him to greet an old donor and then moments later, the lights dimmed and a spotlight appeared.

It was time for the art exhibit. Clarke now stood front and center of the room, everyone’s eyes brought to her. She was still in her all-black attire. He wondered idly if she’d ever return to wearing other colors or if this period of mourning had become a part of her, even if she no longer felt it as much. 

“Thank you all for being here today,” Clarke greeted the crowd. “It means a great deal to me that such a large attendance of people were able to come. I know that the last time many of you were here was for my father’s funeral, and I’m glad to be able to give this estate a new memory for each of you.”

As Clarke talked, Bellamy couldn’t help his prideful smirk.

It was smart of her to remind everyone why they’d last been here. To keep Jake’s presence consistently on people’s minds. 

Next to her, he could see the minuscule shift in Kane’s posture.

“This exhibit wouldn’t be possible without the support of my mother, Abby Griffin,” a pause for applause, “and Marcus Kane. Without the two of you, without my family, I wouldn’t have found the inspiration for this series.” She then turned back to everyone else. The painful smile was still plastered on Kane’s face, while Abby looked genuinely emotional. Clarke’s grin was still professional, but Bellamy could see the wolfish edges that border-lined the depths of it. 

“I want everyone to move through their own pace of the paintings of course, look at the detail as closely as you can. But for now, I’ll leave you all with an introduction to the story behind the art.”

Suddenly around them, the lights grew darker and another spotlight appeared. This time, illuminating the first art piece. 

Clarke began to speak, her voice echoing throughout the chamber as the crowd hung onto her every word. As she spoke, moving slowly from piece to piece, each one lit up with a new spotlight. They were set up in a semi-circle, pushing the audience into a suffocatingly tight group as they condensed themselves to see it all. 

There were seven total paintings. The canvases hung 8.5 inches by 10.8 inches and she’d used oil paint, her speciality at Polis. The colors were a blend of muted and toned down, with splashes of brightness. Mainly the reds, bold and attention grabbing, popped off of the canvas. The detail was immaculate, matching Clarke’s fascination with the hyper-realistic paintings of the past. Even as a child she’d walked past modern art with just a shrug and instead fallen in love with the detail work of the baroque era. The subject matter was only a miracle away from stepping off of the canvas and into the room with them all.

And that subject matter… that was what left the audience in an awe-inspired state.

As Clarke described the theme, it all pieced together with each canvas reveal. It was a story of a modern Cain and Abel, brothers in business but driven apart by bloodlust. The debauchery of sin and greed that fueled Cain, seeking riches, to kill his own brother. 

The meaning was clear and even Bellamy was impressed with the literal connection that she’d been able to make with the names. He’d always preferred mythology, and in turn that was what Clarke had mainly heard stories about growing up, so he wouldn’t have even thought to make the biblical connection.

He kept his eyes locked onto Clarke. Around him, everyone was silent. Even when Clarke had stopped speaking, allowing the final piece to speak for itself, they didn’t stir. The paintings were almost too graphic; he could see a few mouths twisting on older patron’s mouths as they took in the violence. But almost everyone was filled with awe and horror as they looked upon them. The way the story accelerated, the way the violence increased until Caine stood above Abel in triumph. And the most important detail of all––the bust of the statue that had carved its way into Jake’s head was held by the remaining brother. His face was that of how he was typically depicted in biblical renderings, but the sneer was all too familiar.

The owner of such a look had also seemingly picked up on the meaning of the paintings as well. It was too crystal clear for even Kane to shrug it off, to act blissfully ignorant of its implications.

His face, turning multiple shades of red, was contorted in anger. And then to the shock of everyone in the room, his sudden movement breaking the captivating spell that hung everyone in suspense, Kane fled the room.

A swell of whispers followed him as everyone reacted to his departure. Abby looked between the now closed door where he’d gone and back to Clarke, her confusion obvious.

Clarke’s own focus was solely intent on where Kane had gone, a smile creeping onto her face before she turned to hurry out of the room a different way. No one else seemed to notice, the crowd now able to go up close and study the artwork. Kane and Clarke were entirely forgotten, if not for the strange tension that had returned to the room.

Bellamy hastened his step as he hurried after Clarke. He slipped into the hallway and it only took a few moments of searching before he found her. Or more accurately, she found him. She practically barreled into him as he rounded a corner. 

“Did you see his face?” Clarke’s eyes practically glowed as she looked triumphantly up at him.

“Those paintings were unbelievable,” he responded. “I’m blown away. There’s also no way he doesn’t know you know now.”

“Good,” she replied quickly. “That means he’s right where I want him.”

Then before he could fully process what was happening, a determined expression overcame Clarke’s face and she suddenly raised up onto her toes and grabbed his face to pull him into a kiss.

His surprise only lasted for a split second before he returned the embrace. Because  _ holy shit _ Clarke was finally kissing him. After this tumultuous period, she was finally allowing herself to open up to him. While her hands cradled his face, he tightly wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in close to him. He could feel the adrenaline still humming throughout her body as she nearly vibrated in his arms. He knew that this would only remain a stolen moment with everything else going on, but he could taste the promise of more on her.

“You both terrify and amaze me, Princess,” he breathed out heavily, catching her lips for another kiss as he did. “I don’t know what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“Nothing that I can’t handle,” she responded, scrunching her nose up mischievously.

She then, seemingly reluctantly, dropped back down onto the flats of her feet and he let his arms fall back to his side.

“It’s almost finished Bell,” she whispered excitedly. The gleam was back in her bright blue eyes. “I only have one last thing to do.”

She grasped his hand quickly, pulling it up to plant three quick kisses on his knuckles as a farewell. Then with a squeak of her boots against the tile flooring, she spun away and hurried back down the hall. Towards justice or revenge, he couldn’t quite tell. 

Bellamy chewed on his lower lip nervously as he watched her silhouette disappear around the corner of the hallway.

He couldn’t just let her go into this by herself, as much as she wanted to keep him at arm’s distance. He had been able to passively help her get this far, now he was going to get more directly involved. A distant memory came back to him, of a time when him and Miller had gotten into trouble and a private detective had gone above and beyond to help them out. 

If her phone number hadn’t changed, maybe it was time to see if he could get one more favor.

* * *

Clarke’s heart felt like it was going to erupt out of her chest, breaking her ribs with its frantic beating. 

She’d never cared for playing sports herself, always preferring to watch and cheer on. So that meant that right now, she was running purely on adrenaline and the high of being able to close this chapter and to rid Kane from their lives forever. 

She was only moments away from being able to end this all right now.

She sprinted towards his office, pausing only to stop at a large marble vase where the corner turned to enter where the offices were. She stumbled to a stop, fumbling in the dirt and messing up the plant that was in it. But then, just when panic began to flutter to life in her, she felt her fingertips brush against cold metal.

The final piece of all of this.

She pulled the handgun out of the vase, flecks of dirt falling by the wayside as she lifted it up.

It had been a gift to her father for his forty-fifth birthday, only two years ago. A matching, identical pair from Kane. It had received a hearty chuckle and a clap on the back, but Clarke knew he’d never bothered handling it beyond just loading the bullets for Kane’s sake. Her father was an engineer, a creator. He didn’t need a weapon like this; he rarely even used his hunting rifle. 

Which meant that it was still heavy with loaded bullets. In essence, a paper weight. But now it was her safeguard against a man who hadn’t hesitated to kill his partner and her father. 

Clarke tightened her grip on it, her resolve strengthening, and she began to stalk back down the hall.

Memories of finding his body that day fueled each step.

She wondered if Kane was going to try and get any evidence destroyed, if there was any left. He must have been confident that he’d gotten away with it when the police had ruled it an accident. Or maybe he was going to try to go on the run. 

Either way, she’d first try his office. It was on the way to the bedroom as it was, just a quick peak in.

Finally, her heartbeat feeling louder than her own footsteps, she arrived. 

She grinned when she saw that the door was open. He was getting sloppy.

Using the barrel of the gun to edge it further open, she kept herself in the shadows of the doorway to peer inside. A success: Kane was inside. She shifted slightly closer to get a better picture of what she was looking at.

He was kneeling –– a strange sight to behold.

She paused, hanging back in the shadows as she observed him.

It took a second for her to process what he was doing, it at first just appearing that he was looking for something. But then it registered with her that he was kneeling in front of a small potted tree.

With her parents' backgrounds, religion had been absent in her family for her whole life. And as far as she knew, similarly in Kane’s. But she’d met his mom a couple of times when she was younger, usually just at ARK events. Vera had been a sweet woman, leaving Clarke to often wonder what had gone wrong with Kane. But Clarke did remember her being very religious. It had seemed a bit hippy-like. It hadn’t surprised her that pragmatic and power-hungry Kane hadn’t followed her footsteps in it, but she recognized the tree from photos that Vera had shown her one day.

A symbol of the rebirth that her faith believed in.

And now Kane was praying in front of it, his voice wobbling and his knuckles white from clenching them so tightly.

A thought struck her with horror.

If on the off-chance that Vera was right, and this faith was as forgiving as some, her killing him now might bring him salvation as he prayed. And that wasn’t something that she could risk.

Quietly, sucking in her breath until her chest hurt, she tiptoed away from the room and fled.

Her plan wasn’t entirely to kill him. She’d prefer a confession really. But she hadn’t realized how prepared she’d been to kill him until she’d stood in the dark and really studied him. Her father’s murderer. 

She couldn’t look Bellamy in the eyes right now and she’d only have the slip on Murphy and Emori for so long. So she went to the only place she knew she could right now: her studio.

Taking the steps two by two, Clarke rushed up and up and up. Her blood was pounding in her ears. 

She could do this.

She could figure out the next step.

Bellamy’s voice from within her reminded her that it was always possible to seek outside help. Kane was cornered, they could try and get a detective out here and get a confession from him. Would there be enough time? Would he try to flee? Would he lash out at her for staging this elaborate scheme?

Her breathing was labored as she reached the landing of the top floor, immediately falling into pacing. She had to keep moving; she couldn’t stop to pause for one minute. 

There was the possibility too that her mother was in danger. She’d have to get her off of the grounds. Bellamy was as well. She had no doubt that the guards would be able to take care of themselves, she could get word out to Miller to alert everyone.

If she could somehow then get the place locked down with Kane trapped inside, this might just work. And no one else would have to die.

Yes, she could handle this. 

A rustling behind her nearly gave Clarke a heart-attack.

She whirled around, a vision of Kane lunging for her flashing through her mind. Survival instincts kicked in and she fired the gun.

“Clarke––”

The blast of the gun was echoed by the sound of it making contact with a chest, followed by a thump as the body fell to the floor. 

The room seemed to spin as she looked down at the person at her feet.

Finn was sprawled across the ground, his body limp. Around him, blood pooled out from the wound. The wound that  _ she _ had caused.

The cloud of anger that had been fueling her completely dissipated, leaving behind a hollow horror. Finn had been many things over the years to her, and though he’d solidified himself as a thorn in her side, this was still not the outcome she would have ever hoped for him. Her hands began to shake.

Behind her, the door swung open with a sharp slam against the wall.

So distracted by what she had just caused, Clarke spun around but luckily didn’t raise the gun again. At this point it could have been Kane and she would have done nothing.

Instead though, she watched as Bellamy, Murphy, and Emori all tumbled into her studio. Bellamy’s mouth could only fall agape as the three of them took in the sight in front of them. He must have known something had gone wrong if he was looking for her, if the three of them had come to find her right now. If only this wasn’t what had transpired, a tragedy outside of all of her intentions. 

“What the fuck did you do Griffin?”

If anything, Murphy sounded more impressed than horrified, so that was a positive sign.

“It was an accident,” she said thickly. 

The gun was still burning into her hand but she didn’t dare let it go. 

“He was hiding in here, he must have been waiting for me. I thought… I thought it was Kane.”

If anyone responded to her, she didn’t notice right away. The word had barely tumbled out of her before a flickering in the corner snagged her attention. Clarke looked up to see her father appearing, his edges fuzzier than before.

“Do not delay, Clarke,” he said urgently. No one else looked up as he spoke; this was only for her to see. “Time is ticking down.”

“Clarke!” Bellamy snapped, though clearly more frantic from the events that were going on versus anger towards her. She jolted back to awareness, looking back at him.

He walked over and placed his hands on her shoulders, leveling his gaze with her. Over his shoulder, Clarke watched as the apparition of her father disappeared from view. 

“Murphy and Emori are here to take you back to the station. Kane, he must have seen you while he was in his office. With the gun,” he motioned towards her hand that still hung by her side. “He’s furious, probably figured out what you want to do. He told your mother and Abby agreed that you’re too distraught to still be here. They’re sending you back to Polis.”

“Yeah, we’re supposed to take you,” Murphy added on grimly, still looking down at Finn’s body. 

“We have time to quickly hide this,” interjected Emori, “but we just have to do it quickly and then get going. They’ll wonder where we are. Bellamy, you’ll have to handle the rest.”

He nodded and Clarke looked around in a fog before agreeing as well. She hated saddling Bellamy with this, a gruesome new twist in all of this, but they were right. If she didn’t get out of here soon, Kane would come after them. Another idea began to take seed at the thought, but for now she had to follow along with everyone else.

Some of the sheets that hung up in the studio, including the one that Finn had been hiding behind, were able to be used to wrap the body up.

“You seem a lot less surprised to see a dead body than I would have expected,” she tried to say casually. She wasn’t even sure what she was trying to imply.

Emori shrugged, her eyes darting to Murphy and then back.

“Working here wasn’t our first gig, how about we just leave it at that?” She shared a private smirk with Clarke, who nodded in return with her own half-smile. That was definitely a secret that would remain between the two and she had a feeling it was better if she didn’t know.

But when it became clear they were the cusp of being up here too long, Finn now totally wrapped and hidden from view, she knew it was time to say farewell to Bellamy for now.

Without caring about Murphy and Emori waiting for her, she yanked Bellamy down to her height with a fist of his shirt, pulling him in for a goodbye kiss. She hoped she could convey all of her emotions into it, to thank him for doing all of this for her. For not only being willing to help her get what she needed, but to willingly be by her side through all of it and going down with her. The way he returned her kiss, equally as fierce and possessive, told her that he understood plenty enough.

A cough came from behind them.

“Alright lovebirds, get some oxygen and let’s get a move on.” Murphy sounded just as amused as he was impatient with them. “We haven’t got all night.”

She reluctantly released her hold onto him, Bellamy sighing against her lips before pulling back as well. 

“It’s not a goodbye,” she whispered. “I’ll see you again.”

He nodded, tracing a line down her cheek and then stepping back towards the body.

“Call me once you’re in Polis safely,” he instructed. She agreed and they were all on the move then, time accelerating as her nerves took hold. This was all really happening. 

“Great, he’s going to be so mopey now that you’re going to be gone again,” Murphy muttered as they hurried their way out to the grounds. Emori elbowed him in the side. 

The drive to the station was quiet. She could see Murphy and Emori occasionally glancing at each other, having a silent conversation between the two of them. It felt similar to her and Bellamy. That thought made her smile, despite the churning sensation that hadn’t left the pit of her stomach since she’d shot Finn. She hadn’t even known he’d come to the exhibit, that he’d been in the house. But he must have snuck away without her seeing him and wanted to wait for her to be alone. The violation of knowing he was wandering around waiting for her gave her a shiver, as much of the trauma of his death was going to plague her.

A dense fog was rolling in the longer they drove. It only added to the oppressive nature of the night, the conflicting emotions. Kane knew she was onto him; he was that close to being able to get out of the web that she had been weaving for him.

She couldn’t let up now. This couldn’t be the end of the line for her, only to return to school while he unleashed his anger in whatever way he chose to on the people that she loved.

Once they arrived at the station, nearly empty at the late hour, her plan was fully set in place.

As they walked in, her eye caught the three security cameras set up around the station. If everything didn’t come to a head tonight and she had to wait this out, she wouldn’t put it past Kane to try and use his old political power to sway them to give him the footage. She had to make that just in case, it didn’t look like she left the station.

While she planned, Murphy went ahead and bought the tickets with the employee credit card all of the Griffin’s employees received. Emori had her lone suitcase with her, a fact that she hadn’t even registered right away. Someone must have packed it for her, most likely on Kane’s orders. It made her skin crawl to think about someone going through her bedroom, and also glad that her studio was her actually private space.

Clarke tapped her boot anxiously up and down on the floor.

It would be forty minutes until the next train, the last one of the night heading that way. 

It was now or never. She couldn’t waste any time.

“Do you mind if I go to the bathroom really quickly?”

Emori stared steadily at her, a knowing glint to her eye. Murphy just shrugged her off, his focus elsewhere as he shifted his weight back and forth.

There was nothing that would stop Emori from going with her. To not let her out of her sight. 

But maybe Emori knew more about what had all gone down than Clarke had personally told her. Maybe Bellamy had clued them in after all, maybe it was just how intuitive she was. In the dim lighting of the train station though, the tattoo on her face even darker than normal, she seemed to fully understand Clarke’s plan. But she didn’t make any sort of motion or offer.

“Sure,” was all she said. “I think they’re just down the hall.”

There it was again, that faint smirk that she’d shared with Clarke earlier. She hoped maybe one day, when this was over, she’d be able to sit down over coffee with her and ask her about her story and what all she’d done. But for now, she had to get out of here. So with a quick nod towards them, dodging Murphy’s curious look at his fiancé, she hurried to the bathroom. 

There was luckily no one inside. Clarke rushed back to the back stall where a small window was perched up high. Unassuming, frosted glass that let in a filtered amount of light to the otherwise dark bathroom. And just the right size for a somewhat short college student to climb her way through.

She was going back home once again, but this time she knew what she had to do. 

* * *

Night was falling on the estate and a chill not so dissimilar from the night that this all began followed in its wake.

Bellamy breathed into his palms, rubbing them together to generate heat before continuing on with the task at hand.

Burying Finn’s body.

The on-property cemetery had always been a location that Bellamy usually stayed clear of. On one hand, it felt disrespectful. His presence here was a gift from the Griffins, this wasn’t his direct line of family buried here. It also, well, gave him the creeps a little bit. Giant stone monoliths rose up amongst the trees, statues of crumbling angels noting back the amount of generations that had come and gone on this property. 

And now he was here to add one more, at least temporarily.

Barely an hour after Clarke had left, he’d been able to get in touch with Detective Indra Salway. He’d done his best to describe the situation, making sure to emphasize the exhibit as the cover that it was so that Clarke’s innocence remained clear to everyone else. He’d then expressed his concern at Kane’s behavior, remarking that he believed the paintings had resulted in a strange behavior that he was suspicious of. She’d told him she’d be there in forty minutes since she was already on that side of town.

When she’d shown up, Miller and Bellamy had been waiting at the gate for her. Her long black trench coat had cut an impressive figure and even though it had been six years since he’d seen her last, Bellamy was fairly certain she hadn’t aged. Beyond a few new scars against her sharp cheekbones, barely visible against her rich dark brown skin and the night sky, she was just as he remembered. The two of them had brought her up to the estate, successfully bringing her in without Abby or Kane noticing. Miller then took the reins, allowing Bellamy to slip away to wrap up other loose ends.

First order of business had been slipping into the gardener's shed for tools. Nyko only worked on workdays and certainly never in the evening. He had a large team, appropriate for the size of the gardens and grounds of the estate, but the shed was as empty as Bellamy had expected it to be. Easily allowing him to get in and take what he needed––primarily gloves and a shovel.

He didn’t even really know what he was doing. This could only serve as a temporary solution. He’d have to speak with Murphy and Emori once they got back from the station, see if they had any advice. He was sure that Clarke could come up with something as well; once she called him to let him know of her safe arrival he’d make sure to ask as discreetly as possible.

He’d barely finished tossing the last remaining pieces of dirt on top of the fresh grave when a flash of brightness distracted him.

Ice cold fear made him freeze, only for him to realize seconds later as the person hugged him tightly that it was Clarke.

“What are you doing here?” He asked in a panic. But he was unable to resist pulling her tightly into his grasp after quickly shucking the gloves off of him so as not to get the dirt on her. “You’re supposed to be on the train back to Polis.”

She gave him a quick kiss before shaking her head. Despite the chill of the night, sweat was beaded at the top of her hairline and a flush stained her cheeks. She was breathing heavily too––she must have walked here from the station.

“I couldn’t leave. Not with you and my mother still here. I don’t trust Kane not to hurt either of you. And that’s if he didn’t somehow have something planned for bad to happen to me back at the university. I have to finish what I started.”

His grip tightened ever so slightly on her arm.

“Are you going to kill him?”

She stared up at him and he internally sighed.

He hadn’t wanted it to get this far.

But he didn’t trust it to go any other way.

“Blood must have blood,” she mumbled, low but resolute.

He narrowed his eyes, taking in the strength of her posture and the jut of her chin. A trait she’d clearly picked up from him and O. 

He pulled her into one more hug, entangling his hands in her hair as he held her tightly to her. Everything was hanging on a precipice and he wanted to hold her tightly before everything changed. Get every last detail of her ingrained in his mind before they went back into the estate. 

“There’s a detective here,” he informed her as they began to make their way back in. Frost crunched underfoot and the cool air was damp and frigid. It did nothing to settle the frantic pulse of heat going through him as the house rose up larger and larger in front of them as they got closer to it. When they hit the gravel driveway, a misty rain began to slowly fall. “Indra, you remember her right? Anyway, I called her up. Our best case scenario is getting a confession out of Kane before anything happens and for her to hear it. You need her on your side and as much stacked against him in case this goes south.”

Clarke nodded along.

They passed the giant stone lions at the entrance. Out of the corner of his eye, Bellamy couldn’t help but note that the rainfall made it look like they were crying. 

A blink and the darkened stone almost looked like blood. 

He quickly looked back over at Clarke instead of dwelling on it. 

She nodded along to what he’d said. “And once he’s handled, we’ll figure out everything else with Finn. I have the beginnings of a plan that’ll hopefully take care of everything. If not, I’ll find a way to plead my case about it. Everyone here certainly knew he wouldn’t leave me alone.”

Bellamy swallowed back his own petulant reminder that he’d once told her to keep Finn off property, watching as the other man’s obsession only grew with her. But saying so wouldn’t change anything, so he kept it to himself.

They swung the door open, splatters of rain announcing their arrival before they’d even stepped in. 

Greeting them in the large entrance room was a group of people.

Miller looked at them nervously, his eyes darting from them over to the others. Behind him stood Abby and Indra, next to each other and clearly just interrupted from their conversation. Beside Abby was Theolonius Jaha, the family’s lawyer. His presence at the Griffin household had been greatly reduced to just official business visits after the death of his son, Wells, in a car crash. Wells had been Clarke’s first best friend and Bellamy had spent the first couple years of their friendship worried that he was simply filling a gap. He knew now it wasn’t the case, but it was still jarring to see the older man here again after so long. Bellamy hadn’t registered seeing him earlier, but he must have been at the art exhibit. What had made him stay? 

“Clarke,” Abby said slowly, “can you explain why we have a detective in our house at this late hour?”

Rather than anger on her face though, there was a knowing expression to her eyes as she looked at her daughter. If Bellamy was a betting man, he would have said that she had figured it all out too but was continuing to play ignorant just in case. At least until Kane had been dealt with.

“Where’s Kane?” Clarke interjected instead.

“That’s what we all would like to know actually,” came Indra’s bemused response. But despite the lightness of her tone, her hand was on her hip.  _ On her holster _ . 

Things must be coming to light. Bellamy’s breath hitched. 

Well then, things really had escalated since he’d left.

That caught Clarke’s eye as well.

“Is there something wrong, Detective?” 

She was a natural at playing innocent. Bellamy couldn’t help but feel pride for it, even if it was a role of deception that he wouldn’t probably like in anyone else. 

Indra nodded towards Abby and Jaha. “Thanks to a tip from your friend Bellamy, and a conversation with these two, some interesting theories have come to light. I believe you’re aware that he didn’t react well to this art exhibit of yours?”

“I thought I noticed him leave early. A shame, he didn’t let me know if he had any questions about the pieces.”

Even that line was a bit too sugar-coated for playing dumb, but Indra didn’t react to it. 

“I’m interested in hearing his point of view,” she simply responded. “Try to get a complete picture.”

“That won’t be necessary,” came a voice from above all of them. Each of their heads swiveled to see Kane standing at the top of the front entrance staircase. He cast an imposing silhouette, his eyes blazing when he took in the sight of Clarke, who was very much here and not on her way to Polis. If he’d been any creature other than human, Bellamy would have imagined him frothing at the mouth with rabid anger.

“Your mind has been filled with lies since your arrival,” he directed at Indra.

She was unrattled by his attempt to corral the situation.

“I think I’ll be the judge of that Mr. Kane,” she called back out. “Could you please come down here? It’ll just be a few questions.”

“Kane,” Jaha said, cutting in. “If something is up, I’m sure we can figure something out.” 

Bellamy wasn’t sure Jaha’s law practice covered crimes like first degree murder, but he appreciated the man’s loyalty the Griffin family. He was clearly hoping against hope that the same conclusion he’d reached as everyone else was wrong.

Oh, if only.

“It’s over Kane.” Clarke’s voice rang out from beside him. “They all know the truth now.” 

Kane let out a bark of laughter, his eyes turning manic.

“Oh, Clarke,” he tutted. “Your arrival home really put everything out of whack. Everything was working out just as it needed to, but you came back and just couldn’t help yourself. Couldn’t help intervening where it wasn’t necessary. I’m not going to answer any questions and you, of all people, won’t be able to make me.” 

And then he reached into his jacket, pulling a small handgun from what must have been a holster hidden away from sight.

That broke the straining tension of the room.

Jaha let out a swear that Bellamy wouldn’t have thought him capable of saying. Abby shrieked and immediately moved towards her daughter. Within a second, Indra’s own gun was drawn. 

“Everyone get down!” She shouted. Only some of them listened.

Miller instinctively dropped down, moving closer to protect Abby––as was his job. Jaha crouched down as well. Abby kneeled, tugging on Clarke’s hand to pull her down as well. But Clarke and Bellamy remained standing (him only because she had remained upright as well). 

“If you’re so confident, then confess,” seethed Clarke through her teeth. Her anger was beginning to bubble up behind the veneer she was holding onto.

Kane snorted as he began to slowly make his way down the steps.

“The idiot Arkadian Police Department didn’t even think to launch a real investigation into his death, I’m not even sure a confession would be enough for them,” he sneered. He seemed entirely unbothered by the detective’s aim on him. 

He continued on, his anger seemingly taking over. “At the time, I’d thought I’d still been too sloppy. Careless in some sort of fact. But they came in, blustering about, and I realized I’d probably spent far too much time making an elaborate set up for it all. He was going to die painfully either way, I should have made it easier on myself. But it didn’t matter in the end, because they ruled it an accident so quickly I was almost startled no one approached me and asked for money to hide the fact that they knew.”

He took a few more steps down the stairs, everyone waiting with bated breath as he did.

“It was easy enough to sway your mother over to me. Grief is a funny thing, it makes us cling to different things in our lives. Though your act of madness was a clever one, I’ll give you that. It was believable. I knew you’d react badly to your father’s death, but you’re smarter than I’d given you credit for. I hadn’t wanted to bring you down as well, but now you leave me no choice.” His eyes darted around the room. “Though I think for all of the trouble you’ve caused me, I think I’ll have to actually start with your precious mother or Bellamy before I get to you.” 

It was that sentence that seemed to spark Clarke into action.

She reached behind her and from the back of her pants, hidden from view this whole time by her sweater, pulled a gun out as well.

Bellamy’s blood ran cold at the sight of it in Clarke’s hands.

Even knowing the accident from earlier, it was still impossible to connect the image of Clarke with a gun. He was fairly certain before today she’d never fired one. But standing here now, her posture perfect and her face defiant, she held it out in front of her with a confidence that shook him to his core. 

In the distraction of hiding Finn’s body, he hadn’t even thought to check what they should do about the gun. Apparently Clarke had held onto it.

“Your time is up Kane,” she called out. She seemed unfazed by the one that was still trained on her. 

The air in the room was so thin, the tension so tight, it felt like everything could shatter at any minute.

He rolled his shoulder, as if making himself comfortable.

“You really think I won’t shoot you?”

“Clarke, honey, I can’t lose you too,” pleaded Abby. Bellamy wrestled to help keep her out of harm's way––as much as he also wanted desperately to leap to his feet as well. 

Her daughter didn’t flinch or even react.

“Miss Griffin! Mr. Kane!” Came a shout from behind him, Indra trying to get control of the situation. “I ask that both of you immediately put your weapons down. At once. This situation can and should be de-escalated to an appropriate amount.

Kane took another step closer. His gun remained trained right at Clarke. 

“Clarke,” Bellamy tried, hating how his voice cracked. “Please, please don’t do this. Don’t get hurt.”

He was nearly paralyzed with fear. 

Memories of the days where the two of them would run through these halls, Octavia on their heels, came to the forefront of his mind. Long hours spent in the library, hiding away in her studio to avoid the adults. The warmth of her in their first kiss, only hours ago though it now felt like a lifetime since he’d touched her. 

A wan smile stretched across her face.

“All that lives must die, passing through nature to eternity,” she recited calmly. He couldn't tell if she was addressing Kane or speaking to herself.

The two each took one more step closer to each other, Kane another step down and Clarke now just beyond Bellamy’s reach. 

Faintly he could hear Indra shouting, unable to choose one person to get to stop their advancement.

Bellamy’s eyes instinctively closed at the sound of gunfire, as a single shot echoed through the room.

+++

> **ESTATE MURDER ENDS WITH MORE DEATH, PERHAPS JUSTICE**
> 
> Written By Maya Vie
> 
> _ AKARDIA––For the second time within a year, the Arkadia Police department was called out to an estate for a death. The difference this time was that it was for a murder, as well as the discovery that the first time was a murder as well.  _
> 
> _ Earlier this year, the end of April brought a shadow to both the Griffin family and ARK Engineering with the death of the patriarch and founder, Jake Griffin. His death at the time had been found a tragedy, a devastating accident. Now, with another death on the same grounds, new information has come to light. _
> 
> _ The arrival of Jake Griffin’s only daughter seemed to have set a series of events into action. Aspiring artist and junior at Polis University, Clarke Griffin (20) arrived home where her mother, Abby Griffin, had married ARK partner, Marcus Kane. Though little has been revealed about the relationships between Kane and the Griffin household, the marriage came within a short amount of time after the passing of Jake. From there, most details are murky until the night of an art exhibit, presented by Clarke. _
> 
> _ “It was an attempt to find my footing again,” she explained to reporters. With camera lights flashing in her face, the sole heir to the Griffin inheritance seems calm and collected––despite the horrors that have just transpired. “I was inspired by the way history seems to have a way to circle back to modern times and wanted to use my own grief to fuel my inspiration. Knowing now what I do, I feel that in some way my paintbrush was guided by my father’s spirit.” _
> 
> _ It was hours after the exhibit that the events of the evening transpired. In a series of events that brought a detective, the family, and a few friends together, they were then confronted by Kane. While threatening them all with a gun, he then admitted to the group of how he had killed his old business partner.  _
> 
> _ With a verbal confession in front of multiple witnesses, including Detective Indra Salway, Kane confessed to killing Jake Griffin and disguising his death as an accident. He then threatened the lives of those present, including Clarke and her mother. In an act of self defense, Clarke was forced to shoot Kane, resulting in his death. Also on the premise was Bellamy Blake, a ward of the Griffin family, as well as Nathan Miller, a guard employed by the family. Thelonious Jaha, the family’s lawyer, was present and had presumably attended the art exhibit earlier that evening.  _
> 
> _ One other death has also been reported that appears to have some connections to the events that night. Finn Collins’ body was discovered later in the investigation. Collins (22) was a previous romantic partner of Clarke Griffin’s, though according to Griffin they had been separated for over a year at the time of his death. The timing of his own death coinciding with Griffin’s return home is lending to the belief that Kane was responsible for the young man’s killing, though that remains unconfirmed by the APD. It has been released though that he was shot with the same style weapon that belonged to Kane. _
> 
> _ Has justice been found? It is difficult to determine; an estate and family now drenched in death. But with the father’s murderer now dead himself, maybe there is still time for the remaining Griffin family to have the chance to truly grieve and move on from this trying time. _

With that last line echoing throughout his mind, Bellamy laid down the glossy magazine. Staring back up at him was a photo of Clarke, surrounded by reporters. Behind her, he could make out half of his face as he looked down, barely a step behind her as they made their way out of the estate the day the news first broke. Her eyes were locked onto the camera, staring into his soul. 

The article was forgiving. But then again, so had everyone else been during all of this. Bellamy slowly folded up the magazine and placed it down beside his morning coffee. From his spot at the kitchen table, he then looked over at Clarke. She was on the couch, casually sketching in one of her hundreds of notebooks scattered around the apartment. It brought a gentle smile to his face, watching how light her expression was without everything from the past weighing her down.

It made him consider everything that had changed in the last few months.

Despite the media attention that had hounded the two Griffin women, Clarke remained in relatively high spirits. And he couldn’t blame her. While shooting Kane hadn’t been in his vision of how things would transpire, but the result had been the same as locking the man up––at least in Clarke’s eyes. It was impossible to say if he would have gotten the death penalty, the odds were high but not guaranteed. And as much as Bellamy’s own philosophy stood opposed to that outcome, he couldn’t shake the relief that had settled into the Griffin family as well as himself. Kane had been a ticking time bomb. At any point, Clarke would have become a threat to him and now she was free from that. Abby too, free to take charge of her own life. Which she would continue to do so after extensive rest to regain herself, she’d announced once night at dinner that she would be fulfilling the role as CEO at ARK. No more outsiders, no one else to determine what was best for the company. 

Clarke was now back on track for finishing her time at university, a consensus agreed upon by the university’s president and her professors that after this semester and the scale of her art exhibit, she would be qualified to continue onto her senior year as planned. Twice a month therapy lessons had been added into her schedule as well, and apparently she really liked the woman he only knew as “Luna.” She’d also been offered to pen a novel about her experience, but she hadn’t told him yet what she was thinking of deciding in regards to that. He continued to dedicate his time to research, finally finding the seed of inspiration he’d been looking for to start writing his book. Indeed, Clarke’s own series of a modern view on Cain and Abel had ignited it in a strange way. So, as much as her work had been to uncover a secret villainy, he now found himself weaving together ideas and thoughts on the modern relationship that people found to mythology and the classics as an attempt to better relate to the fabled stories.

Amongst the chaos of it all, the stress of the press and police reports, he’d coaxed her to move into an apartment. The estate would always be home to both of them, but for now the industrial loft apartment was a place of refuge. Away from the traumas that had occurred there. Besides frequent visits from Octavia, now home and brimming with questions about what all had transpired, it was something that was truly just theirs.

That night, for once, he went to bed later than her. The ability for him to just roll over and find her next to him, curled up in the strange shape she always pulled herself into when she slept, was something he still hadn’t been able to get over. Her blonde hair was splayed onto the pillow and he watched with a smile as she wriggled closer to him.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered.

“It’s okay,” she mumbled back. “I wasn’t too deeply asleep.”

He smiled to himself and moved to burrow himself deeper under the blankets when she spoke again, her voice still thick with sleep.

“I was actually talking with my father, he said really approves of what we’ve done with the place and for you to hurry up with the proposal.”

Bellamy stilled, looking over at her cuddled up form.

She was completely unbothered by what she’d just said to him, as if everyone just regularly saw the ghosts of their family. He couldn’t bring himself to shake her awake again, to ask her if this was a regular occurrence or if it had been her father’s parting goodbye before he completely passed on. He must have been giving a final farewell to his daughter, that was all Bellamy could settle on. And as unnerved as he had been at first, this having been the first he’d heard of Clarke seeing Jake since those first nights back, a level of comfort replaced that worry.

Even without apparitions in their lives, the events would remain imprinted on them for the rest of time. But there was a solace in the vengeance that had been found, a victory paved out of sorrow. And as he looked over at Clarke’s, his heart melting at the softness in her sleeping expression, love uncovered against an enemy of hate.

And the rest was silence. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this incredibly niche fic! If you're new to my work, I'm also a part of the 100 Fic for BLM Initiative. It's an initiative where writers and content creators are accepting prompts for donations that help support the BLM cause. If you want to learn more about it, you can check out the carrd for it [here](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)! I'm not currently taking new prompts but you are able to prompt me updates to my WIPs to secure the next chapter's spot in my list of fics that I'm writing!
> 
>  **A couple notes:** (1) the program Octavia is attending is inspired by a real one called High Mountain Institution, highly reccomend looking it up! (2) I can't believe I thought I could adapt Shakespeare and keep it brief
> 
>  **where else you can find me:** [Tumblr](https://she-who-the-river-could-not-hold.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/the_river_held) | [my carrd](https://she-who-the-river-could-not-hold.carrd.co/)


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